


Yondu in a Bottle

by ravager_tears



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blood, Blood and Gore, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Other, Rough Sex, Sex Toys, but the seriously dark stuff will be coming so dont get attached, not a lot of blood and gore but just in case, the first few chapters are light
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2018-12-11 00:35:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11703114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravager_tears/pseuds/ravager_tears
Summary: Yondu Udonta bottles up his feelings to the point he pretends he doesn't have them. That's fine and all; until he and his first mate start what can only be called a relationship. Being a former slave helps him with his (non)feelings exactly zero.Lots of smut, lots of plot, and some tiny!Peter time. Early chapters are going to have some past-noncon references, later chapters are going to have some graphic moments that there will be extra warnings for.





	1. Smuggler's Hole

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Write_like_an_American](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Write_like_an_American/gifts).



> Side note that this work is a gift for Write_like_an_American's birthday. Request filled bebe!

Yondu hated needles. Not that such a dislike was uncommon, per se, but he really, really hated needles. Every time he looked at one, he was barreled straight down memory hell. His entire childhood had been nothing but IV feedings and immunizations; never carefully placed and always painfully jabbed. It only got worse when he was rescued by Stakar’s crew—weeks of intensive care, a lifetime of damage that could only be healed by time instead of nanite gels or bone fusers. Never mind the years he spent as a Battle Slave in cockfights, and all the quick, careless stitches he received. No one cared about leaving scars or causing more pain. They just wanted to get him sewn back into one piece long enough for his next fight.

  
All that said, there were some times when you just had no other choice. With no crew, no medic, and a pack of Bounty Hunters on their asses, Yondu and Kraglin had no option but to hide in a smuggling panel on the Kareg`e Station and patch each other up to avoid dying. Kraglin had some minor bumps and scrapes, as well as two broken fingers. Yondu was a lot worse off, a giant gash cutting across his shoulder blade. If it had been a blaster, at least the heat would have cauterized the wound, but the damned chunk of M-ship siding had him bleeding indigo all over his leather jacket.

  
Which brought Yondu back to the giant curved needle Kraglin was tying a thread to. He winced just looking at it, but he forced himself to slide his coat off.  
Kraglin noticed the movement but didn’t comment on it. He knew needles were one of Yondu’s things. One of those things he hated passionately, in a way only many terrible experiences could make you hate. He also noticed similar tics around things like collars, hand cuffs, and jail cells. The behavior was so minute, anyone else probably wouldn’t have noticed the way Yondu treated those particular things, but other people didn’t spend as much time watching the good captain as Krags did. Also, no one else had seen the row of Kree slave brands going down the middle of Yondu’s back, directly over the scarred remains of his original crest.

  
Kraglin had spent the last three years of their—call it a relationship, on a good day—trying to convince Yondu he didn’t care about that dark place, that rocky past that left his captain in tatters.

  
Yondu, in turn, had spent the last three years snarling and whistling at Kraglin every time he tried.

  
But that was okay. Kraglin was never much for words, anyway. He could show Yondu in plenty of other ways that he did, in fact, love the surly grump. Starting with respecting his unsaid, never addressed traumas.

  
Kraglin, as carefully and lightly as he could, scooted up to his captain’s side partially in view, and began stitching up the giant cut on his back. He was going to keep it as quick and painless as he could, and would just have to pray Yondu didn’t get worked up enough to skewer him with his arrow.

  
Yondu had mentally prepared himself for the sting of a needle, but what he got caught him off guard. Kraglin’s touch was feather light, like sheer fabric caught in an air vent. He barely felt the tiny sliver of metal go in, and only a faint tug as his skin reunited. Kraglin’s other hand, despite his broken fingers, danced across the top of Yondu’s shoulder soothingly.

  
After a murmur of approval slipped past Yondu’s lips, Kraglin pressed his whole face against him, cheek resting where his hands had played moments before. He slipped the last stitch in carefully, cutting the thread with one serrated tooth. “All done.”

  
Those two soft words snapped them back to reality, the fog of closeness lifted. Yondu jerked away from the contact, implant casting shadows over his snarl. “Do I look like I need a wet nurse coddlin’ me?”

  
He shouldered off Kraglin’s touch despite the pain it caused him. Kraglin only sighed, used to the bristles. “I haven’t heard no more Hunters run by. D’you think is’safe to bolt?”

  
“I wish it was,” Yondu grumbled. “These pack bastards will have a second crew here by morning, so they’ll try running us to ground tonight. We’ll have to wait for them to pass out after the time-turnover-gap.”

  
Kraglin checked his wrist comm—four hours until the station’s end of day. That was a long time to remain cramped in the 3x8ft hole, but they could do it. At least, Kraglin could; he wasn’t so sure about the way Yondu eyed the overhead spark panel warily.

  
Kraglin shifted, trading sides of the small space with his captain so that Yondu could take the seat next to the exit hatch. The door that lead back to the hallway had a slit in it, small enough not to be seen from the outside, but big enough for them to peer through. After cracking his broken fingers back into place, Kraglin settled his own boney body against Yondu’s uninjured side. He was fully prepared to be shoved off, or at least get a grumble about how sharp and twiggy he is.

  
Yondu did neither, ignoring his first mate’s comfort all together.

  
Progress.

  
***  
They made it out, of course. Yondu’s arrow and ironclad stubbornness would allow for nothing else. But between slamming their borrowed (stolen) M-ship through the base’s security doors, coaxing the poor thing to the next quadrant in one piece, and meeting their clientele to exchange for their stolen goods, the two of them had no real time together for a week. A week of Yondu manning the mangled ship while Kraglin slept or vice versa. A week of other Ravagers joining them to secure goods. A week of nursing wounds, signing manifests, forging papers, and ordering around rank-less crew members. A week of watching Yondu’s beautiful, leather-clad ass from a distance—if only because he refused to face Kraglin.

  
Kraglin Oberfonteri was a proud, Xandarian born, Hrax blooded man. He would not hesitate before any obstacle and would not bow before any man. He refused to be reduced to a sad pile of Rejected Ravager.

  
And yet, that was exactly what he felt like sitting in the hall outside Yondu’s bedroom. It was an almost uninhabited corridor: the only thing other than the Captain’s room was a backup medical storeroom. Kraglin had no worries over others intruding on his childish expressions as he glared at the closed door.

  
It wasn’t like he expected Yondu to roll over like a joyful puppy to cuddle in his arms—Kraglin would fall over dead if he ever did that. But a burst of one-sided gentleness did not warrant being outright snubbed for seven day cycles. Kraglin wasn’t even sure he wanted to test the door to Yondu’s room. It he never tried, he would never have to pry out the knife a locked door would plant in his heart.

  
_Knife in the heart from a locked bedroom? Shit, boy, you have gone softer than a Kelarian’s bosom._ Yondu would have said it with even more venom than Kraglin’s mental voice. What would he do, if he knew his fuck buddy/first mate was mooning about outside his sound-proofed door like a lovesick tween?

  
Probably shoot him. Not even worth the arrow to the skull.

  
Kraglin wished they had fought. Fighting they could take—it usually ended in angry sex and a backwards compromise that neither of them liked. Yelling, shouting, shoving, it was all par for the course on a Ravager ship. But pretending like Kraglin didn’t exist, even in their professional seats or alone on a dying M-ship for days, was too much for Kraglin to deal with. He could take a hint.

  
Sighing, he got up, dusted off his never-clean jumpsuit, and gathered up his shredded dignity for the trudge across two decks back to his own cold bunk. One last glance at the glittery palm scanner made him hesitate. Would he ever forgive himself for not at least trying? One last attempt to enter on the logs for Yondu to mull over? Let it know it was Yondu’s official decision to breakoff, not Kraglin’s….

  
He laid his palm over the pad lightly, never in a million years expecting it to pop open. His hiss of disbelief was disguised by the whoosh of the opening door. His lusty moan was disguised by nothing.

  
The sight before him had all the knives poking his heart removed and all the blood in his body to his groin. Yondu had no clothes on, spread across his bed like a lounging lourna. Except the beasts of Alizar IV don’t writhe face down on dirty sheets with dildo’s shoved up their asses.

  
At Kraglin’s entrance, Yondu lifted his head up enough to peer at him through his spread legs, face flushed and slicked with drool. He fingered the base of the black silicone jammed in his stretched hole. His voice gravelly and low, he demanded, “Where you been? Been waiting here for hours.”

  
Hours? _Hours?_ Yondu had been playing with himself in preparation for Kraglin—for _hours?_ The hours he had spent moping outside in the hallway?

  
His mind hung up on the concept (pissed at himself but too horny to process it) Kraglin slammed the button to close the door and tore off his jumpsuit like a man possessed.

  
Yondu smirked at his eagerness, but that smirk didn’t last long. Kraglin sucked the look right off his face with the ferocity of his kiss, planted straight to the delicate skin around the toy inside him. He kissed and licked and nipped until Yondu was a shuddering mess, precum pooling on the bed beneath him. He managed to gasp “Krags” before first mate grabbed his balls. The tightness there made him moan, face pressing deeper into the pillows.

  
With the swift hands of a professional pickpocket, Kraglin had the dildo out and his fingers in before Yondu could even think to protest. Those fingers were questing and massaging every nerve he had, as they settled on a determined wiggle over his prostate. Yondu was certain the bastard had a target lock on the damned thing the way he went for it, but he was too busy muffling undignified squeals (chirps, he would later insist; like his native language).

  
One more thrust of those spidery digits had him cumming all over himself, cramped muscles tightening further before going loose, like snapped rubber bands. But Kraglin was nowhere near done. Yondu could always rely on the kid’s stamina to keep their romps interesting.

  
Fingers tight on Yondu’s hips to keep his ass raised, Kraglin growled, “I’mma make you regret not waiting. Make you regret resorting to that thing.”

  
Kraglin rolled the black sex toy off the bed as if he hadn’t loved the sight of it pressed deep into his captain. Yondu groaned as Kraglin got up onto his knees, dick pressing in alongside his fingers. He paused like he always pauses—a brief second to let his captain stop him, a second waiting for a protest. It was something he always did no matter how rough their sex got, as if he had an instinct for what Yondu wanted in a mate.

  
Yondu insisted to himself the warmth he felt was sexual and nothing else. But before he could war mentally with his _non_ emotions, Kraglin was fucking him into his mattress. It was increasingly difficult to snap orders—harder, faster, deeper—with his face stuffed full of sheets and pillow corners, but he was not about to tell Kraglin to stop shoving his face down. Hell, he’d suffocate happily this way.

  
They squirmed and moaned and bit until Yondu was cumming again, gasping as his exhausted muscles refused to obey anything he asked of them. Maybe spending almost two hours in a sexy crouch wasn’t the best idea he had ever had, but he wanted to see the look on Krag’s face. And he was nothing if not greedy.

  
Kraglin gave a few last thrusts into his boneless captain before letting himself cum as well, his own sticky white coating Yondu’s ass and joining the other stains on the abused bedsheets. He knew better than to collapse on top of his captain’s blue back. That was one thing there was zero tolerance for, and Kraglin didn’t want anything to ruin their moment—sweet and sticky and together.

  
He landed to Yondu’s side, one arm drapped across that scarred body to press them together. Both of them panting into their pillows face down made quite a picture, and Kraglin was not going to be the one to ripple the pond. His rotten luck, one sentence would destroy everything.

  
Reaching his other arm under the nearest pillow to pull it closer, Kraglin discovered one of Yondu’s many trinkets. This one was a Xandarian doll, a pink character with wide eyes and purple hair. Kraglin dropped it off the side of the bed, not wanting to roll onto it later.

  
“You bessstop throwin’ ma stuff on the floor,” Yondu slurred, but his grumble was far from threatening. He moved like he was going to cuff Kraglin on the ear, but a raised hand and vaguely wiggled fingers were all he could muster. Yondu was too tired, too satisfied to even poke at his first mate.

  
Kraglin had to press his face into the bed to hide his face splitting grin.


	2. PTSD (1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone needs to cut Yondu off from sex until he learns to use safewords, because HE SERIOUSLY NEEDS THEM.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are a lot more references to past-noncon through Yondu's perspective

As more time went on, Yondu let more things slide for Kraglin. Normally, he had a strict outline for what was and wasn’t allowed; or else get skewered with his arrow. Krags had been so good about these boundaries for years, Yondu had stopped policing his every move due to familiarity and damned it all: trust. But the soppy First Mate had decided to throw his efforts into giving Yondu some kind of _comfort._ Like he needed or wanted physical affection or to talk about his flarking feelings. He didn’t, so he wouldn’t.

 

Except. Every time he accepted a gentle nudge or let Kraglin sit a tiny bit too close without barking at him, the kid got that soppy _look_ on his face. Like he had been handed the flarking lotto numbers for four systems. And while Yondu had no need for such ridiculousness… he was willing to tolerate just a bit of it to see Kraglin’s face do that too-wide-grin thing.

 

He just looked so damned _happy._

 

So obviously, there was no way such a thing could last.

 

***

 

Yondu was more closed off than anyone else on ship, except maybe the Gunner Pod, but one of them was mute and the other two didn’t talk about anything at all. But Yondu had a distinct preference for no one knowing a damned thing about him beyond “greedy, asshole, and horny.” After all, what saps would follow a traumatized, nightmare-riddled captain into battle? He knew keeping his secrets from everyone—no matter how good a first mate or fuck buddy—was the only option.

 

But all his nightmares, all his scars, nothing compared to the flashbacks. The damnest things could send him reeling back to relive memories he hadn’t touched in years. As a youngin’ freshly adopted onto Stakar’s flagship, one lieutenant wore a musk that absolutely reeked of betalwood—the same tree Yondu’s third owners used to hang slaves from to be whipped. Everytime that dast officer got within ten feet of Yondu, he would be tossed straight back to that tree, feel the whip cracking his back, could see the bark details pressing into his face. He ended up killing the guy in a fit of anger, but it had been face-to-face open combat (no arrow) so Yondu had gotten off without punishment.

 

Once Yondu had become captain of the Elector, things had gotten easier. He could ban things without a good reason, because he was in charge. He made his bridge crew rewire the panel of warning beeps to a tone that didn’t remind him of the alarm he woke up to in his master’s bed. As far as they knew, he just didn’t like the sound. He forced Half-Nut to toss the stuffed Kraornor head he used to tote around like a toy. Yondu claimed it shed on his bridge, but in reality he could still feel the hot breath and vicious bite of the rabid Kraornor he had been thrown into a cage with as a child.

 

So because of his captaincy and controlling nature, Yondu managed to whittle his mental disturbances down to their minimum. Unfortunately, once Kraglin decided to take his boundary-pushing game to the bedroom, there was no way something wouldn’t go wrong. It started small, like everything else. Kraglin turned into a cuddler. Not like a lover looking for extra attention, but more like he wanted as much contact as he could manage, side to side or front to front. He knew better than to try spooning Yondu—that would have been an immediate trip to the cold hallway floor.

 

The cuddling was fine. Yondu would even go so far as to admit the warmth of Kraglin’s faster metabolism was nice. But his renewed investment in plowing Yondu face-down into the mattress was becoming sketchy. That first time, Yondu had spent a large chunk of time playing with himself (longer than he intended, seeing as Kraglin was late coming in, but hey if the kid ran the ship for him who was he to complain?) so he was mentally prepared for it. But ever since that first time, Kraglin has taken that as permission to try it whenever his fancy strikes. It’s gotten the kid kicked in the spleen more than once for trying to flip him over. But just as many times, Yondu ended up shouting into his pillow as Krags tried to put him through the bed.

 

But this time was different. Kraglin had no way of knowing Yondu had such a crappy day; it went back to that bottled up emotionally thing, right? No one on a pirate ship talks about their problems, traumatized or not. But traveling to meet Stakar and the other Captains made him tired, and even worse, the bright white lights on the planet the met on had given Yondu more than one flicker of medbay memories.

 

Hoping the sight of a naked first mate’s ugly mug would make his shitty day end better, he messaged Kraglin to meet it his room as soon as he was close enough to the Elector to transmit. Sure enough, Kraglin was lounging in the bed by the time he got to his room, skinny-stick-man clothes piled on the floor. Of course, the hairy git had that same black dildo—freshly cleaned and ready for business—dragging down his tongue. It wasn’t enough to cover the cheeky grin. That was the grin of a man willing to do all the work, which after three days of almost no sleep, Yondu was okay with.

 

The door closed, Yondu’s coat hit the floor, and Kraglin scrambled up to help his captain out of the rest of his clothes. “You tryin’ to tell me something, kid?”

 

Kraggles snorted, hands roaming over blue flesh. “Ain’t no kid. Don’t go callin’ me that in bed, ya old perv.”

 

Yondu growled and flipped Kraglin to pin the cheeky bastard to the bed. “Yer lucky I’m too dast tired to put you in your place.” He whistled, his arrow lazing in the air inches from Kraglin’s eyeball. “But don’t think I won’t still kill ya for getting too cute.”

 

Krags eyed the arrow warily, but still lifted a hand to yank at his Captain’s belt. “Yessir.”

               

Satisfied that Kraglin got the picture, Yondu let his arrow clatter to the floor, then finished removing his clothes. In the process, he flicked the sex toy off the bed and into the crack of space against the wall. He wasn’t in the mood for that, honestly. He wasn’t even sure _why_ he called Kraglin for a romp, except maybe that he hadn’t gotten any nookie for three days.

 

He did _not_ miss Kraglin. That would be almost as ridiculous as saying he was afraid to go to sleep because he knew an endless string of nightmares awaited. Absolute bullshit, that would be.

 

But looping back to the “no sleep for three days and horrible memory-reliving” factor, Yondu was not up for one of Kraglin’s famously long-lived sexicodes. He just wanted a quick orgasm and a warm—too warm to be mistaken for a Kree—body pressed to his side while he slept.

 

And as usual, Yondu had absolutely no idea how to say any of this to his bedmate. So he figured the best thing to do was to let Kraglin have his fun, wear the kid out as best as possible, and then toss him to the wolves (crew) in the morning to keep the ship together so that he could sleep for a week.

 

If only his plans _ever_ worked out like they were supposed to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally one chapter but it became way too long lol. So now it's being split into 3-4 parts. As usual, this entire works is still an ongoing birthday present to Write_like_an_American


	3. PTSD (2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~SURPRISE TWO CHAPTER DAY~
> 
> We continue further along the "Someone teach Yondu what safewords are, for the love of god" path. SERIOUS DUB/NON-CON warnings for this chapter, because what could possible go right with these two?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, this entire works is a Birthday Present for Write_like_an_American, and you can also thank them for the two-chapters-in-one-day because I live to please/emotionally scar them.

Kraglin had never realized how long three days could be. He had almost asked if Yondu wanted him to come with to the Ravager 99 Clans meeting, but he knew better. Someone had to keep the Elector running, and hell knew no one else could do it. The last time they’d left Rall in charge for two days, they were putting out literal fires for a week.

 

So when Yondu messaged Kraglin a blunt “I wouldn’t kill you if you were in my room when I get back,” Kraglin felt some organ rolling around in his stomach do a few extra flips. Kraglin knew Yondu had some old flames aboard Stakar’s crew, and that sort of thing didn’t bother him. Their relationship wasn’t like that, after all. But for Yondu to come back and immediately think, “I want Kraglin in my bed” made the Hraxlian have to bite his lip bloody to hide the grin.

 

Having Yondu smashed into the sheets beneath him was easily one of Kraglin’s favorite sensations. He knew Yondu had plenty of reservations about his map of scars, but Kraglin honestly liked running his hands over them. He had each and every one memorized, just like he had Yondu’s favorite foods, trinkets, and necklaces memorized. There was something satisfying about the tactile feel of long-healed blue skin.

 

Kraglin got Yondu’s clothes off, got a threatening arrow to the eye (that really shouldn’t have been a turn on, but hey) and got his captain beneath him. He nibbled whimpers out of him, and sucked hickeys across his torso. He knew trying to turn Yondu face down was a coin-flip—it always was. He felt like Yondu was coming around, though. Relinquishing control of anything was a rarity for him, so Kraglin relished every second.

 

The only regret he had was that he couldn’t see his captain’s face from that position, but nothing was perfect. With fist-fulls of the most glorious ass known to pirate kind in his palms, he could hardly complain.

 

He thought Yondu’s tense muscles were from pleasure. He thought the clawing at dirty sheets was a desperate grab towards orgasm. There was no possible way for him to know that Yondu was smelling Kree bedthings, or feeling blue hands on his back instead of pink. When his captain went boneless in his arms, his only logical conclusion was that Yondu came, and trusted Kraglin enough to let his guard down. His thoughts were thin and incoherent from his own orgasm, but all he was sure of was that he loved the man beneath him, and he was happy to make him happy. He curled up against Yondu’s back—another risky gamble—but when there was no protest to be had, he settled in to sleep there.

 

It wasn’t until he woke hours later that he realized something went very, very wrong.

 

***

 

Kraglin woke up because Yondu jumped. It wasn’t like an enemy-response or anything, it was the kind of jump a person gave at a sudden bug bite or pin prick. Assuming a flea or something snacked on blue skin (not completely unusual, but Kraglin thought they had gotten rid of the pest problem) Kraglin ignored the startle and went straight for the post-coital pleasantries. “Mornin’.”

 

No reply. No snarky response. No snarl to get off his back. In all honesty, that should have been Kraglin’s first clue that something was wrong, but he was tired and hazy and used to Yondu’s silence as a form of affection.

 

Kraglin snuggled in closer, the tuffs of hair on his chest smashing Yondu’s spine. “S’ssalmost time for first shift. Do ya want me to go and you can take second?”

 

Still no answer. Had Yondu fallen back asleep? Kraglin listened more carefully to his breathing. It was shallow and rapid, like he was trying to control his temper. “Sir?”

 

When Yondu didn’t reply to that, Kraglin finally sat up and leaned over Yondu. He had both blue hands clapped tightly over his mouth, bloody bite marks covering both limbs. His red eyes were blankly fixed on the wall, focusing on things that weren’t really there.

 

After a brief moment of shock, the blood finally made Kraglin react. “ _Shit_ sir! What the flarkin’…?”

 

Yondu still didn’t say anything, but Krags was busy scrambling to the desk to fish out the small med kit that was stashed there. Kraglin immediately tried to pry Yondu’s hands away from his face, but Yondu flinched at the contact. He flinched in a way Kraglin had never seen before, like a stray mutt on Knowhere that had been kicked a thousand times too many.

 

That was the moment Kraglin actually understood what was happening. He leaned away, fighting the bile that was trying to burn his throat. He had seen the scars, he had seen the slave brands, but he had never seen Yondu like _this_. Like he was broken and empty, and all of that huge, boisterous, madly-grinning personality had just ghosted off.

 

The events of the night before suddenly looked very different in Kraglin’s memory.

 

“Shit, shit, shit, _shit_ sir, why didn’t you _say_ something?”

 

Of course he didn’t get an answer. He didn’t’ expect one. He had no idea what to do, how to help; he didn’t even know how not to make it worse. All he could do was pull Yondu’s hands into his own and bandage up the bloody crescents as best he could. He moved slowly and carefully and murmured quietly as he did it. Maybe something would get through. “Cap’n it’s me. It’s just me. I know you don’t wanna, but I gotta patch you up. But it’s just me. Just you an’ me. It’s Kraglin, ya know? It’s your Kraggles. I don’t know where you are right now, but ya gotta come back. I’d miss ya, and Stakar and ‘Letea would everybody’d miss you. This place ain’t no palace, I know that. But it’s gotta be better than where ya are now. So just come back to us, yeah?”

 

Yondu didn’t react to anything Kraglin said, not even the declarations of love. It must be worse than Krags imagined. He didn’t want Yondu to be alone, but he didn’t think the tension in his shoulders would relax until he was gone. Besides, the ship would fall to ashes if the helm were left to their own devices for more than an hour.

 

Dismayed at the events that had crashed down on him, furious at every Kree slave owner who had ever lived, and honestly sick to his stomach over what he had inadvertently done to his own mate, Kraglin got dressed and slinked around the ship. If he barked orders at the foolish bilge rats that scrambled across the decks, or replied a little curter to the officers than usual, well. He had too many things toiling in his rib cage to bother being any kinds of polite.

 

One smart-assed drain rat had dared ask, “What’s eating you? Oh, wait. I meant, what’s eating your _tapeworm_?”

 

That particular drain rat went to the medbay with welts and broken bones associated with beaten-with-a-pipe syndrome.

 

Kraglin was on edge, which meant everyone was on edge. There was no Captain to put the First Mate in his place, and Kraglin snarled and threatened the crew into the best shape possible. The only thing he could do for Yondu now was make sure the Elector was waiting for its captain’s return in the same condition he left her in. Call him dedicated? Maybe. But by the third rank-less crewmember he put into the medbay, even he had to admit it.

 

Maybe Yondu isn’t the only emotionally stunted fool in their relationship.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What will we do with these two idiots?? I know! M a k e i t w o r s e


	4. PTSD (3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been days since Yondu passed out and Kraglin still isn't doing so hot.
> 
> The last part of PTSD is here! Same warnings as the last few chapters, plus a suicide mention, just to warn you guys.

Yondu woke up feeling used. Not in the good “got drunk and laid” kind of way, it was more like “got dragged to the master’s bedroom and now everything hurts from my ass to my soul.”

 

Yondu wasn’t unfamiliar with such a feeling, but it had been awhile. He wasn’t as young as he used to be. It took him a few moments for him to go back to his old coping mechanisms. _Don’t open your eyes. Catalogue physical pain first. Emotional pain gets buried later._

 

Limbs got flexed, injuries tested. The worst of it was his hands. Yondu cracked open one red eye to look at them, curled on the pillow inches from his face. They were bandaged cleanly, expertly dressed, and he had only a vague recollection of biting them. Why had he done that?

 

But then it hit him all at once—flesh choking his mouth, blood welling on his tongue, gaging down a desperate whistle; thinking one short sentence over and over like a chant to remind himself, “Don’t kill Kraglin, don’t kill Kraglin, _don’t kill Kraglin_.”

 

He should have said “stop” at some point. “Get off me” or “hold it” would have worked fine, too. God knows Kraglin would have immediately stopped and leaped to the other side of the room if he had even the slightest hint Yondu was having issues. But if Yondu had opened his mouth, a whistle would have come out before words, and his First Mate would be dead.

 

_Is_ he dead?

 

Yondu didn’t know the answer to that, and the very thought made his heart begin racing. He bolted upright, ass twinging in protest, and looked around. No Hraxlian corpse. No blood stains. The only thing that was not where he left it was a nearly empty bottle of booze on the nightstand that had been full, and in a drawer the last time he saw it. Someone had to have treated his hands, so surely it was Krags?

 

Satisfied for only a moment that Kraglin _probably_ wasn’t dead, Yondu laid down to rest his pounding head. The entire event had been such a blur, part “don’t murder your lover,” part “master, Kree, slave, compliance,” and no small amount of “can’t breathe.”

 

There was also another distant, incoherent memory or Kraglin shouting profanity and bandaging his hands. Great, just what Yondu needed: Kraglin Obfonteri with his “worry” instincts turned on. Certain that Kraglin was probably adopting a pack of tribbles just to mother them senseless, Yondu fumbled for his commlink. He had dozens of messages spanning… _five days!_

 

Reminding himself that he _had_ wanted to sleep for a week, Yondu began sifting through them. He was expecting complaints like “Tell Krags to stop following me around, I’m capable of doing my job” and "we already did five diagnostics on X problem, tell your mate to stop asking about it.”

 

Instead his inbox was crammed full of the following:

 

_Obfonteri needs his damned rabies shots, sir._

_All due respect, Captain, but what the hell did you do to Kraglin?_

_What’s eating Krags?_

_If you don’t leash that damned bilgesnipe, I quit._

_Toss a bot hooker on your boy, he needs to get laid._

Even the medics had sent him complaints about the amount the amount of business Kraglin had been sending them. Most chilling was the day-old text from Stakar that read only, _I respect your place to choose your own staff, but if your First Mate ever talks to me like that again, his skin is going to be grafted into my leathers and you won’t be allowed to burn what’s left of him._

Yondu held the PAAD away from himself like it was a poisonous snake. “What the hell?”

 

Of course, it was that instant that Kraglin stumbled into his room, looking like he was about to fall apart at the seams. He hadn’t shaved, making him look more rugged and bushy than usual, but also with an air of unkempt despair. His thinner face and sunken eyes said that the jackass had stopped eating (dangerous for a high-metabolism species) and from clear across the room, Yondu could smell the cloud of bourbon that must have bonded with his DNA to be that pungent. Yondu repeated, “What the hell?”

 

Seeing Yondu awake and alert made Kraglin’s face go funny. It was like he was being torn in a dozen directions at once: happy that Yondu was awake, sure, but also scared of his reaction, full of shame, fear, love, maybe even some self-hatred. And it didn’t help that Kraglin seemed to misinterpret Yondu’s question, or at least, the source of it. “I… I’m so, so sorry Cap’n. I never should have… I should have known, I didn’t… I never thought that… _fuck_.”

 

Yondu tried to followed his stuttering, but that last word had so much emotion tangled into it, Yondu winced. “S’snot what I meant.” He waved his PAAD in the air. “What the hell have you been doing to my _ship_?”

 

Kraglin looked incredibly hurt and offended by that accusation. “What do you mean? I’ve made sure everything was _perfect_ for you.”

 

“Not the crew,” Yondu pointed out. “I have 36 medbay reports caused by _you_ beating  the shit out of people. Half the crew are threatening to quit at the next port, and the other half are trying to start a fund _voluntarily_ with their _own money_ to get you a parvo shot. And fuck, I don’t even want to know what you said to Stakar.”

Kraglin went very meek very fast. He mumbled, “Maybe I’ve been a little on edge.”

 

Yondu groaned and put his head into his bandaged hands. “Stakar’s gonna disavow me, iddnee?”

 

Kraglin cringed but didn’t reply. He was still very unsure of what was happening. When he’d left Yondu in the morning, he’d been as deeply asleep as he had been for the last several days (maybe even in a coma). Every day his captain didn’t wake up, he felt his heart shrivel up more. The airlock doors had even begun to look attractive, but that easily could have been the alcohol’s fault. Kraglin decided that option was like having an ugly bartender—a sign you should stop drinking once you begin flirting with it.

 

So Kraglin abandoned the bottle of Altairan Bourbon on the table and gone off to antagonize the crew some more. For all the time Yondu had slept, Kraglin hadn’t. How could he? Every breath he took reminded him of what he did, of what Yondu had looked like in the throes of a waking nightmare. Knowing he had added to the list of horrors made every heartbeat chant some kind of ancient blood magic he didn’t understand. _Disloyal, disloyal, disloyal…._

He hadn’t been raised around other Hraxlians, and he sure as hell didn’t adopt into the culture should have been born to. But he knew how highly valued his kind were for their loyalty as bodyguards and as mates. And for the first time, he really understood why. It was like his own flesh and blood body was trying to punish him for what he did. The worst part was knowing that he deserved it.

 

Kraglin had no idea what Yondu was thinking. He could be pissed to silence or still not be coping with the aftermath of “that.” Not willing to risk hurting Yondu even a fraction more, Kraglin took a step back. “Well now that you’re up, I guess I should go—”  


“Go?” Yondu’s head lifted to frown at Kraglin. “You ain’t going anywhere.”

 

Kraglin knew it. Yondu Udonta was not a man to mess with, and even unintentional, Kraglin had hurt him. Badly. There was no way he would let such a thing go so easily.

 

Kraglin closed his eyes, waiting for the burn of an arrow. He was probably too young to be so at peace with death, but if he was really honest with himself, he was glad _something_ was going to stop the unceasing pain in his chest. Five days was a long time to go with such a horrible feeling, after all.

 

It was a relief he never got. After a very long silence, broken only by the beeps of a commlink, Yondu snapped, “Whadda ya still moonin’ around over there for? Get your ass in this bed ‘fore you fall over.”

 

Kraglin snapped his eyes open, confused. The pain in his chest flared until he thought his head would explode. With all of that constricting his respiratory systems, the most articulate thing he could manage was a voice-cracked, “Hheh?”

 

Yondu only glanced up long enough to show he did it, before returning to his message. “Posting that the new kid, Tullk, is gonna have command for two days while we’re focusing on a secret heist. Now git over here. I ain’t pickin’ you up if you pass out on the floor.”

 

Kraglin stared blankly, but Yondu refused to meet his eyes. “But, Cap’n... sir, shouldn’t we talk about….”

 

Yondu eyed the floor panels for another handful of seconds before proclaiming, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

 

That was the end of that. Yondu laid down and rolled over to face the wall and snuggled into his soft, if unwashed blankets. However, he left the other corner peeled back in open invitation to Krags.

 

Kraglin still had trouble coping with the situation, even if Yondu _had_ straight up ordered him to bed. After careful deliberation, he peeled off his jumpsuit, but he left his boxers and undershirt on as he carefully slid into Yondu’s bed. He was certain that they were tempting fate as it was, so he maintained as much physical distance from Yondu as he could.

 

His guarded moves must have been very obvious, because Yondu huffed, rolling over to lay deliberately and bodily on top of his first mate. “I ain’t made of glass.”

 

His captain’s weight wasn’t exactly comfortable, but he would sacrifice anything to have that blue body tucked under his arm like that. He didn’t move an inch, even after Yondu fell back asleep on him. Even being crushed beneath his favorite person, even with the stabbing, hollow pain wracking his chest, Kraglin eventually drifted to sleep, too.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What could possible be worse than Kraglin being ashamed of what happened between them? Yondu having to comfort Kraglin instead of the other way around, of course! The only thing that could possible strain their relationship more would be... a ship full of celestial children and a squishy pink Terran pet!
> 
> Tune in next time for a bonus chapter about What Kraglin Told Stakar When He Drunk Dialed. Because the world deserves to hear that.


	5. Kraglin Drunk Dials

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a short bonus chapter that does absolutely nothing for the plot but instead takes a step backward to answer the very important question: What the hell did Kraglin say to Stakar when he drunk dialed Yondu's former captain? It's funnier because Kraglin doesn't even remember doing it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all asked for it and so it is here! I decided to write it up while I still had the idea buzzing around my head.
> 
> Apologies for Kraglin's nearly unreadable speech, but between the accent and being drunk, let's face it. He'd be pretty hard to understand by now. If English isn't your thing but you still want a chuckle let me know and I can translate lol

Kraglin was a disaster. That much was clear. He was in that particular phase of drunkenness when all ideas sound like good ideas, and so calling up the leading Ravager Admiral that even Yondu answered to _felt_ like the best idea he ever had. So what if his words were slurring and he couldn't have strung together a coherent sentence if his life depended on it?

 

When Stakar answered, he clearly knew who was calling him. "Mr. Obfonteri, it's surprising to hear from you. I understand that we've never met, but Yondu speaks very highly of you, and I of all people have a firm understanding of _exactly_ how hard that man is to please. What can I do for you? Has something happened to Captain Udonta?"

 

"Why didnnn you lock tha' man up in a padded cell?" Was the first sentence out of Kraglin's mouth. It wasn't his first concern, but his pickled brain assured him it was a good starting place.

 

"Ex... excuse me?"

 

"Him. Cap. Oooo dooontttta. Why didn' ya have 'im locked up, er house trained or nuthin'? Man's a wreck of a guy. Dude. Him needs therapy like a monkey needs ugly."

 

"I... Mr. Obfonteri, are you intoxicated?"

 

"I'ss found the bar."

 

"...And?"

 

"And I drank it."

 

"Of course you did. Look, if this is really a serious problem, call back when you've sobered up, otherwise, I suggest we both pretend like this never happened."

 

"Donchu hang up on me! 'Course is serious! Cuz _we're_ serious. Yondu's... he's my.... we're..."

 

Stakar actually dropped his commlink at that. He was sitting in his office-suite alone, thank goodness, because he would have had to kill any non-officer who saw the expression on his face. _They were... what?_ That seemed impossible to him. Yondu's species certainly aged slower than the standard-- when Stakar picked him off a slave ship, he claimed to have spent almost twenty years of his life as a battle slave, but he looked all of seventeen. it was less than two years after that happened that Yondu became a captain and stole his own ship. Stakar never admitted to giving Yondu the promotion because honestly, he never did. What Yondu Udonta wanted, Yondu Udonta got, the rest of the galaxy be damned. And it certainly didn't help that every time Yondu tightened his jaw and lifted his head in pride against any insult or questioning, all Stakar could see was the rail-thin kid with an electric slave collar around his neck and the flesh of his back gone for the nth time. Everyone accused him of having a soft spot for the man. While he certainly didn't encourage the accusations, he never did deny them, either. There weren't many things Stakar _wouldn't_ let Yondu get away with, honestly. Including, but not limited to, sleeping with his first officer, apparently.

 

Stakar still had a hard time coping with that fact being thrown at him. Since the day they met, Yondu didn't like people touching him at all. He wore layers of clothes to prevent such contact and whistled aggressively at anyone who invaded his personal space. The only kind of sexual contact Yondu ever had in those two years aboard Stakar's ship had been with a bot, programmable and synthetic.

 

Kraglin was still driveling on drunkenly via the dropped link. Stakar picked it up and decided to listen, part horrified and part amused. Aleta buzzed his door to see if he was busy during it, and he waved her in and whispered, "Yondu's got a boyfriend and he's drunk dialing me about how we should have house trained the blue bastard."

 

Aleta choked and immediately moved in to eaves drop. " _I_ told you we should have had him house trained. The man is a tortured ex-slave with every trauma-related illness in the book who _you_ let loose to run his own ship. You should have kept him here until he had at least _some_ of his symptoms worked out."

 

"I know," Stakar admitted guiltily. "But I couldn't bring myself to confine a man who had never had freedom before. I told him when we found him that he could do and go anywhere in the galaxy that he wanted, on his own terms. I couldn't break that promise, even if it meant letting him loose on the universe. Now shhhh, this is funny."

 

Aleta sat on the arm of his chair, leaning in to Kraglin's drunken babbling. "An' another thing! _Hic_. Ssstop havin' your damned clan meetin's on Loria. Ever' time he comes back he's twitchin' for dayssss. I dunno why but he does. But he doessss. An' _hic_ an' another thin'! You shoulda been a better family ta him. Because he acts _hic_ like he ain't got one. He prrrr'tends like ain't nobody cares 'bout him! An' I know you guyssss do, cuz ya check up on him an' let him get away with rules an'stuff. But ya shoulda told'em! Cuz now he don' know! An' now I can' even tell'em I love'em cuz he thinks he's unlovable or something! Definitely something! You listenin' to me?!"

 

Stakar and Aleta both choked on their laughter and managed a serious, "Yes, I am. Aleta's taking notes."

 

"Good! An' another thing! Tell Mainfr.... frum--fram-- _frame_ to stop texting dirty messages jus' to make'em uncomfortable. Idiot reads'em on the bridge an' it _ain't funny_."

 

"Mmm-hmm. Mmm-hmm."

 

"An'! An' we can't even have sex normal cuz now I'mmafraid of hurting the dumb blue jackass."

 

"Uh. Does Yondu know you're telling us all this?"

"No he does _not_ , ya dumb non-blue jackass. I dunno, _are_ ya blue? Shit ya's blue too, aintcha? Two dumb blue jackasses...."

 

"Maybe you should take your link to Yondu now."

 

" ** _I_** ** _can't cuz he's in a sex-coma."_**

 

Wanting absolutely no details on that comment, Stakar hung up. Aleta made a noise of protest. "That was just getting good!"

 

"No," Stakar insisted, watching his link ring again under Kraglin's name. He declined the call, then thought better of it and blocked the number altogether. He would unlock it later, for emergencies, but I did not want the kid persistently calling him at all hours.

 

Stakar spent a lot of time thinking of what to tell Yondu. Not wanting the first officer to get killed for flaunting their taboo relationship to Yondu's superiors, but also not wanting Yondu to ever let him meet the other captains (Stakar did not want to ever have to look the man in the eye, and especially not with Yondu and Kraglin in the same room _together_ ) Stakar decided a simple threat would work. He was going to concoct some offensive move on Kraglin's part when Yondu replied, but that didn't end up being necessary. It took two days before Yondu replied at all, and it was a curt, _Rest assured, my First Officer's reign of terror is over, and he has sworn never to contact you again outside of important and official Ravager Business._

 

Stakar handed the message for Aleta to read and they both got a good chuckle out of it. It was funny, ever since Yondu had taken his own Captaincy he had been the most distant of the original seven-- the seven people who set out to turn the Ogordian Flame pirates into an organized, structured unit. They recruited clans together, closed ranks in the face of adversity, and bonded in a way few military organizations would bond its soldiers. Yondu was the youngest of them, and they had all had a soft spot for him. But Baby was growing up, and despite all of Yondu's bluster and daring attempts at being taken seriously by them--

 

They could all still get one hell of a laugh out of his antics.


	6. Dawn of the Dom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dawning of Sub/Dom Yondu and Kraglin is upon us! Rejoice followers  
> (But seriously, sex is present here kids. Enjoy the last few happy moments because it is the calm before the storm!)

The morning was rough. Yondu didn’t wake well; there was a lot of shouting and flails, and Kraglin took a very sharp elbow to the nose. But once Kraglin slowed the bleeding with the blanket and Yondu realized he was on his own ship, with his own boyfriend instead of where his nightmares put him, everything settled down okay. They still didn’t talk much, but things went back to relatively normal routines. Yondu showered first, and Kraglin checked their messages for things vital to command and the thriving of their ship. As he whittled down the unimportant things and did all of his paperwork for the day, as well as most of Yondu’s, he picked at the drying navy smears all over his face. It certainly wasn’t the first time Yondu had accidentally woken him up with violence, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. In fact, it seemed like a fitting end to their week.

The next week, however, had a much more dignified outcome.

***

Yondu still refused to talk about what had happened. He had more nightmares than usual, and he would hesitate when Kraglin touched him sometimes, but he refused to let his past affect his present. If only Kraglin had the same outlook on it. The scrawny idiot started doing exactly what Yondu was afraid he would do: everything. If Yondu so much as glanced at a cup of coffee, Kraglin would immediately bolt to get him his own cup. If Yondu coughed, he would catch Krags standing behind his back with a med scanner. He did everything Yondu asked and many things extra. Not to mention the fact that no matter how many crude remarks or lewd come-ons Yondu made, he just ignored them. Yondu was feeling pretty damned fussed over in every way except sexual, and that was the exact opposite of what _should_ have been going on.

He let Krags go on for a few days in the vain hopes that he would get it out of his system. But instead, it only got worse. Kraglin bought a bauble made of dimondium, which easily cost him a month’s pay or better. Finally fed up with the idiot, he snapped at him for bringing him food on the bridge. “I ain’t no baby tribble ya gotta feed, Obfonteri.”

The entire bridge knew a fight brewing when they saw one. They all collectively straightened their spines and held their breaths, praying Kraglin’s reply was a good enough one to defuse the captain. Kraglin only held out the sandwich and coffee. “But yer hungry.”

Situation: not defused.

Yondu puffed up more, face going turquoise. “I ain’t. No pet. Ya gotta feed. Get off. My bridge.”

Kraglin looked like he had been slapped, but he did as Yondu ordered.

That night, Krags was wringing his hands while pacing Yondu’s room. He was awaiting his captain’s return so that he could try to make it up to him; surely he could get him a toy or shiny that would make him happy again?

But Yondu’s entrance was swift and quiet. “Um. Cap’n, I—why are you taking your clothes off?”

Yondu, an expert in clothes removal, was already half naked. He glared at Kraglin and barked, “Sit.”

Kraglin did on reflex. He landed on the foot of the bed, still processing the order even though his body had reacted for him. “Sir, what is—”

“Shut it. Now you listen here, little Hrax boy. I don’t care how flark-all much you care, you ain’t gotta _act_ like it. So stop bringing me food, stop doing my laundry, stop shooing off enemies—I can take care of my goddamned self!”

Kraglin folded into himself, but he muttered a sad, “Yes sir.”

“And stop acting like I’m some core-reactor about to blow.”

“Um, huh?”

Yondu snapped his belt off his pants, letting the metal buckle hit the floor with a clang. That was an answer in and of itself.

Kraglin seemed much less sure of that decision, though. “Sir, I don’t think we should… it hasn’t even been a week, and you haven’t… I don’t know if I _can_ —”

Yondu’s lip curled. “Either you fuck me until I forget that I’m mad atcha—a challenge, I assure you—or you and I are _through_.”

Kraglin went as white as bone. “You don’t mean that, sir.”

Yondu snatched the front of his jumpsuit and pulled them close together roughly. Inches apart, he snarled into Kraglin’s shocked face. “Fuck. Me. Like a broken. Hooker bot. Or leave and _never_ come back.”

The words were shocking enough, but Kraglin was wholly unprepared for the ferocious kiss Yondu dragged him in for. It was demanding and inviting, and in less time than it took an M-ship to take off, Kraglin’s entire body was ready. He was ready to have Yondu pinned under him, whimpering and gasping and begging for more.

Whatever Kraglin’s response was going to be, Yondu was not prepared for him to only mutter, “Knock.”

Yondu frowned at him, horny and puzzled and wanting more of that kiss. “Heh?”

Kraglin swallowed thickly. “Been thinkin’ ‘bout it. If ya can’t say… if you want me to stop really, say so. But If ya can’t say, rap on the headboard. Cuz I can’t… I can’t do that again, Cap’n. It’d kill me to do that again.”

The twinge in Yondu’s heart fought valiantly to be heard, but as stubborn as ever, he only gave a gruff, “Yeah. Now get outta that suit. You left me high and dry for a week over here.”

Kraglin gave a wobbly smile that was uniquely his, and went back to kiss at Yondu’s throat. He murmured against his skin, “I’mma do whatever you tell me, Cap’n. Always have, always will.”

“Fuck me, feed me, and find us a mission for this week. In that order.”

“Sir, yessir.”

***

Yondu had always been very demanding in bed, but somehow today was different. It wasn’t just statements, wants, dislikes. He was straight up barking orders. But even that wasn’t the typical _harder, faster, there_ lines that Kraglin was accustomed to. There was “grab my wrists,” and “lean on me more,” and even “yank my earrings.” Kraglin filed all that information away for later, but he responded to each demand without hesitation or remark.

Yondu sprawled across the bed naked and went straight for the lube. Kraglin didn’t hesitate to help him with it. Kraglin of course refused to let Yondu roll onto his stomach, instead pinning him to the bed chest to chest.

Yondu had never been very into kissing, but after so many constant years together, he seemed much more willing to play with the idea. For the second time that day, Yondu pulled Kraglin down for a kiss and nip before insisting, “Fingers. Now.”

Kraglin complied, playing with the ring of muscle that make Yondu sigh. But soon, that wasn’t enough. “Get _that_ where it belongs.”

Kraglin did that, too. He slipped his rock-hard dick in to replace his teasing fingers, and pressed his body in tight against blue skin. Since Yondu had been so into kisses, he went in for another, loving how the bites and gasps would fall directly from Yondu’s mouth into Kraglin’s. Kraglin laid still, waiting for his next orders. Yondu, frustrated with the lack of movement, rolled his hips making Kraglin give up a gasp of his own. “Go. Now.”

That was all Kraglin needed to hear before they both descended into a mess of clawing, scratching, grabbing, and kissing movements. When Kraglin’s soft kisses trailed down his neck, Yondu hissed, “Bite.”

The complete lack of hesitation on his own part would concern Kraglin later, but in the heat of the moment, Kraglin did exactly what Yondu bid of him: he crunched down on flesh and sinew so tightly and suddenly that he drew blood. At the same time, he grabbed handfuls of that ripe ass he loved so much and lifted, angling his thrusts directly over Yondu’s prostate. The sudden change in stimulation and the sudden teeth in his neck made him cry out in a startled jolt of pleasure. He came all over both of them, blue dick trapped between two bodies.

Kraglin didn’t even slow down, continuing to thrust into Yondu’s shuddering body. Electric blue skin flushed darker around his cheeks almost like a blush, and red eyes were clenched shut behind dark lids. Kraglin didn’t have the self-control to stop himself talking this time. “I love you.”

Yondu stiffened under him, unprepared for _that_. There were a million things he could do; he could push Kraglin off, toss his naked ass into the hallway and never talk about this again. He could tell Kraglin what an idiot he is and pretend it never happened. He could even pull him in for a kiss and let the furry fool make his own assumptions. But his aching heart and his sex-driven brain compromised on, “I know.”

There that idiot went with that wobbly smile again. Yondu immediately changed his mind, steeling his expression as much as any guy could toward a man with a dick up his ass. “Shut—”

“I ain’t gonna shut up,” Kraglin interrupted, grabbing Yondu’s legs behind the knees to lift his them up and press their bodies impossibly closer. “Never. I ain’t never gonna stop saying it. You are a big, heavy, hot-heated, irrational, stubborn mess of a man, and _I love you._ ”

Yondu was too busy kissing his boyfriend to argue.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Gasp* The L word!


	7. Fetch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *dramatic music in the background* A familiar face, here to fuck everything up

Days went on in a blur of normality. Well, normality as seen through the eyes of two space pirates who killed things that were in their way and teased engineering crews by purposely triggering engine overload sequences for shits and giggles. But for them everything was rolling as smoothly and as mundane as life could get. They spent days barking orders at the bridge crew, evenings kicking around mouthy drain rats who didn’t polish the floors as well as expected, and nights fucking each other blind.

 

Neither of them repeated the “L” word since that night, but neither of them had to. For beings who held grudges and memories from their entire lives locked away for later, once was enough.

 

Kraglin lounged on the bed, data pad in one hand, the other curling a blue body against him. Yondu was still asleep, and he knew better than to wake him. The Elector made a slow turn, making the light of a passing nebula flare pink and purple light through the window. Kraglin was contemplating if this was the definition of peace when, reminding himself that he should be working, Yondu stirred awake. He grumbled, “Anythin’ worthwhile?”

 

Kraglin checked their job postings, a grand database of requests people like Ravagers used. There were many ways to go about it: the Lawless Registry was a site that any crew across multiple galaxies could use. People posted what they needed, job details, and how much they were willing to pay for it. The Ravager Begets worked differently. Only a Ravager could take those jobs, and even then, they had to be assigned or approved by one of the captains. The higher the rank, the more power you had over who did what. But listing jobs for the Ravagers could also be sent to all the clans, or just a few. This was designed for repeat customers, and to ensure you got the specialized crew you needed. For instance, Captain Axi Bredtha was the single best jewel thief in the Nine Systems. He had more knowledge about anything mineral than any other Ravager, and if you wanted a chunk of Caronese Bloodstone yanked from the Empress’s neck herself, Axi was your man. Every clan had its specialty, and every Captain had their preferences.

 

Kraglin went to check their personal messages, targeted specifically to the Udonta Ravagers. When they had started out, that listing was mostly bare, but in just a few years, Yondu Udonta’s arrow had become one hell of a marketing move. The first few were assassinations of the petty kind; wives wanting husbands gone, brothers wanting the family estate. Kraglin slid past those, as he usually did. If Yondu was in the mood to kill something, he could pick and choose for himself. There were a couple more for your standard robberies, or Boring Days, as Yondu called them. And there, at the bottom of his page, sat one message that had Kraglin reeling. The title was simply “Retrieve” and the price tagged next to it was obscene. “Sir? Sir, am I losing it or does this really have _that_ many zeros?”

 

Yondu, who had been snuggled nicely into Kraglin’s lap while he leaned against the headboard to do work, grumbled unhappily at having to open his eyes. He squinted at the PADD for a long minute. Then his eyes shot open and he bolted upright, snatching the device. “ _Flark._ ”

 

“Good,” Krags mused, “glad to know it’s not just me.”

 

Yondu slapped Kraglin’s chest, not taking his eyes off the PADD less the numbers disappear. “This jackass says he’s got a buncha spawn scattered across the galaxy. He wants us to bring him his ’heirs’ so he can determine a ‘rite a succession’ or something. Whatever that means.”

 

Kraglin hesitated. “Ya mean… kids?”

 

Yondu, knowing Kraglin’s protest, scoffed. “They ain’t property, Krags. It ain’t trafficking or nuthin’. I mean, look at that _number_. Brats are probably gonna live better than any of us ever has for even a day.”

 

“I dunno, sir. Sounds kinda… fishy. Why would he hire _us_ of all goddamned people to haul some brats around?”

 

Yondu scrolled down and handed Kraglin the data pad so he could read it himself. “Says he don’t trust his own people to do it, because there’s ‘political dissent’ and a buncha dicks wanna kill some of ‘em for bein’ hybrids.”

 

Kraglin winced. “Yeouch. Awful mean.”

 

“It definitely ain’t traffickin’,” Yondu insisted. “If it weren’t for us, these kids would die.”

 

“So that means we’re takin’ the job?”

 

“You bet your sweet, bony buttocks we are.”

 

Kraglin grinned, teeth glinting in the light of the nebula. He wrestled Yondu back into the sheets with a kiss. “Then I guess we oughta celebrate.”

 

***

 

The meet didn’t go as expected. _Ego_ wasn’t what Yondu expected, either. For a man who was ruling an entire planet, and had kids scattered all over the galaxy, Yondu had expected bedazzled, buff, and cocky. Cocky was about the only thing that came to pass, though. Ego was short, even shorter than Yondu by a few inches. He also had some serious hair malfunctions, and he wasn’t really… _pretty_. Not like they thought. He wasn’t dressed like a king, either. He wore simple, plain brown clothing with only a sliver of gold around the neckline. But that could have been due to the nature of their meeting rather than personal taste.

He only had two people with him, a twitchy kid that was taller and thinner than Kraglin, and infinitely more bug-like with an extra set of arms, and what was clearly an exoskeleton, as well as a spacey guy, who looked like he could pass for Xandarian as well as Ego did, except his shifty eyes implied he either had brain damage or was on something. They wouldn’t have been Yondu’s first choices for guards, personally, but he had learned never to underestimate the look of a guy for how well he could fight.

 

Ego put his hands on the table in a very regal manner. He seemed very personable, in an annoying way that Yondu usually killed people for. Luckily, he had brought Kraglin with him to ensure he didn’t do something stupid just because their client was cheerful. “Mr. Udonta, it is a pleasure to finally meet you in person. I apologize for the location; I would have preferred something more sophisticated, myself, but circumstances being what they are….”

 

Yondu swallowed a scoff at that. The small bar was nicer than anywhere the boys would ever go to indulge, but he wasn’t going to argue with Money Man. “I completely understand. Ain’t nothing worse than getting spotted somewhere you don’t wanna be.”

 

Ego nodded in understanding. “I’m glad to hear it. And let me just say how glad I am that you’ve agreed to meet me at all. I know sometimes the Ravager Code can come between a man and his pay out.”

 

So the asshole knew that Yondu technically wasn’t allowed to bring kids aboard? No wonder he had offered so much money. But Ego was going on, “I actually insisted on using a Ravager crew to transport my children specifically for that reason. Any other crew not affiliated with a planet would be much too risky for such a thing. And since you have a reputation for… shall we say, _stretching_ the letter of the Code, I knew right away that you were my man.”

 

That was surprising. Yondu had assumed other clans had ignored the posts the second they saw the word “children” in the description. Yondu knew a head game when he saw one, certainly, but he was not one to let flattery go unnoticed. “Well, I sure ain’t no choir boy.”

 

Ego chucked but it seemed half-hearted. Yondu was used to that in hoity-toity types. He had enough interactions with rich bozos that he knew whatever they really felt, they had to act like it was beneath them. Even if Ego’s emotional investment seemed low, the price he was willing to pay for his kids told the real story. He wanted them, and he wanted them bad.

 

Kraglin, however, seemed a lot less sure of that. “If I may ask, sir, how is it you got so many kids splattered across three galaxies?”

 

Ego leaned back in his chair and sighed wistfully. “That’s a bit of a long story, son, but I think you deserve to hear it. I had another crew, before you guys, that would have done all this in your stead. They were very well paid and very trusted by me. Unfortunately, they were caught in an exchange between a Nova squadron and an Accuser some years ago, and since then, I haven’t been able to have any of those children transported here. Normally I would have them brought at a much younger age but….

“I suppose I ought to start at the beginning. You see, on my planet, we have the ability to alter things around us. Bend reality, as it were. And certain blood lines are considered purer than others, due to their ability to effect things more strongly than others of our kind. This has led to many civil wars, some families wanting more power and challenging the weaker for their titles. As it stands, I am the Emperor of my planet, but without an heir with the compatibility for the family bloodlines, I cannot hold the throne.” Ego cleared his throat, looking to the side. “I had a wife and two children on my own planet, and both were killed for the sake of ‘pure blood.’ It’s a gross practice, and the culprits were caught and executed, but the fact remains. Any attempt at creating a family on my part will not be successful as long as it is on my world.

“So every so many years, I earn a leave of absence. I use that time to travel the galaxy and find women with whom I know will be good mothers to my children. They know of my situation and they agree to it. Then, when they have reached an age that is appropriate for that species to leave their mothers, I would send my trusted crew out to gather them. It would be too dangerous for me to go myself, as I am followed by spies a majority of the time. They bring my kids back to me, so that they can be tested for the Blood Trait that would allow them to inherit my planet. None have done so, as of yet, and they all live peacefully and happily in my palace; once they have forfeit they throne, they pose no threat to the purists, mind you.” Ego folded his hands and leaned in to stare into Yondu’s red eyes. “And that’s where you come in. I have over a dozen kids that are currently scattered across Andromeda and the Milky Way galaxies. I want you to bring my children home, safely. Before their own planet can alert their absence to the governments there, and before my enemies track them back to you.”

 

Yondu and Kraglin were quiet for a long time, eyes shifting between Ego, his guards, and each other. Both of them had some small voice in the back of their heads, whispering things about giving some kid the childhood happiness neither of them ever experienced. After some thought, Yondu sighed, “You got yourself a contract.”

 

Ego’s smile was brilliant and for just a second, Yondu thought he could _maybe_ see what all those women found attractive enough in him to have his kid, knowing they wouldn’t get to keep it. He went in for a handshake, which Yondu took out of habit. The contact gave Yondu a jolt and a chill; long forgotten nerve endings, nerves that hadn’t been used since his crest was shorn off, tingled down his back uncomfortably. It was like that empathic part of himself was trying to convey something important, but it just didn’t have the means to do it without a crest to bridge the information.

 

Yondu gave a tight, artificial smile anyway, ignoring the sensation. “Give us the list and the coordinates, and we’ll get your tadpoles back where they belong.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter was on the short side, I've been busy but I wanted to make sure to get something up this week!


	8. Dads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another shorter chapter but I've got another one on its way soon! Yondu and Kraglin start "saving" kids for Ego

“It sounded so easy,” Yondu mused. “Snag a brat, drive them a few thousand lightyears. Feed’em maybe. What happened to the easy things in life?”

 

Unfortunately, no one heard him over the screeching kid. She was a tiny thing, a little pink Askavarian with a half-dozen tentacles and three wide, toothy mouths. Unfortunately, all three of those mouths were currently open and wailing at different pitches, creating one hellish symphony.

 

Yondu continued to try talking to her. “It’s alright! Holy flark kid, stop! We ain’t gonna hurt ya!”

 

And still she screamed. Remembering briefly that Askavarians were almost as distracted by shiny things as Centurians, Yondu frisked his own pockets for something, anything the girl could chew on instead of scream. He came up with an acrylic cast doll, its body translucent and glitter filled. “Here! Look, it’s a sparkly.”

 

That was enough to get the baby’s attention. She warbled curiously, not old enough to have anything above basic speech, and reached for it. Grateful for the relief to his ears, Yondu handed the toy over. She continued to warble at it, noises like a purr that had to go through a blender before it could be heard. “Geh ka?”

 

“Yeah, sure. Geh ka, kid. Whatever you say.”

 

Kraglin peered through the medbay doorway, hands still up and ready to re-plug his ears at the first sign of screaming. “What did you do, sir? It finally shut up.”

 

“Gave her a sparkly.” Yondu gestured to the teething baby. “Weren’t so hard.”

 

Kraglin scoffed. “My ruptured eardrums beg to differ, sir.”

 

“Ah, like I need you for shit.”

 

“Drah?”

 

The baby seemed intruged by Yondu’s curses, waving her new prize at him. All of her arms went up in the air. After a minute of blank stares, she waved them impatiently.

 

The medic barely looked up from his PADD. “She wants ya to hold her, sir.”

 

Yondu made one hell of a face at that. He briefly considered bolting out the door, but that could easily make her start screeching again. Hesitantly, Yondu reached down toward her. The minute his arms were within grasp, the baby surged forward, wrapping around him quickly and in way that was _not_ removable. “Ah, c’mon girl. Lemme go.”

 

Kraglin had to stifle laughter at that. “She likes ya, sir.”

 

“Baba?”

 

The entire room froze, staring at the infant like she was a ticking bomb. Yondu snarled at the adults in the room. “If either of you ever, _ever_ mentions this ever again, I will kill you so bad, you will limp in the afterlife.”

 

“But sir?” Kraglin choked. “You’re her Baba!”

 

If Yondu’s eyes could have spewed lasers, Kraglin would be a stain. “Doc? Get this kid off me. I have a first mate to sodomize.”

 

Kraglin only took a minute to double over laughing before bolting out the door to run for his life. It took twice that for Yondu to be untangled from the kid, but Yondu was uncharacteristically faster than Krags. Kraglin had to stop to catch his breath ever few seconds; the laughter was slowing him down dramatically. The rest of the crew certainly knew better than to ask why Yondu was chasing Kraglin across the ship like an Asgardian Bride left at the altar, but they didn’t miss the opportunity to watch the entertaining display.

 

***

 

A few days went by and Squidy (Yondu had tried calling her the name Ego gave them, but it was impossible to pronounce) had latched onto crewman after crewman, warbling and showing off her growing toy collection. After that first bit of screaming, she seemed to accept that everyone was just a climbing tree for her enjoyment, and came around rather quickly. Yondu was sitting with the senior medic, discussing the next pick up, while the crew handled the pink blob of cuteness.

 

“So I’ve been thinking. Wouldn’t it be easier if we sedated the kids before picking them up, and leaving them in stasis until we get them to Ego?”

 

The doc raised one eyebrow, perfectly trimmed and very red. Doc had a knack for dying and tattooing every bit of himself that would take it, but most things got rejected after a few months and faded. “I can see your point. Or are you just afraid of hearing another kid call you ‘daddy’?”

 

Yondu gagged and shivered. “I ain’t keeping me no tadpoles, Doc. Can you do it?”

 

He nodded. “I can. From what Ego’s files imply, all of the kids will be like their mothers physiologically, so I should be able to do that without a hitch.”

 

Yondu looked incredibly relieved. “Good. This pink cling-beast is distracting my crew to no end.”

 

Doc chuckled. “Somehow, I think the older kids will be less likely to be won over by a chunk of glittery plastic.”

 

Yondu saluted his general direction. “May we never have to find out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's both funnier and sadder, because WE know


	9. Kids

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Normal Ravager Fluff with a side of "we know who dies when" feels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry it's been a while and sorry it's short, but Real Life is kicking my but right now lol things should stablize soon!

The dropoff went much smoother than Yondu was expecting. Honestly, he was getting unnerved by the whole mission being too easy. He was expecting a mess of fighters or blockades to be around the planet on approach. In reality, there was only one large ship, all white and extremely pod-like, waiting for them. From that pod beamed the bug guy that had been with Ego at the first meeting. He immediately zoned in on Squidy, barely taking notice of the other people around them.

The girl was unsurprisingly wrapped around a crew member, this time Tullk. The kid was barely an officer—hell he was barely an adult. But he looked somewhat at home having the small blob-child chewing pensively on his chin with one mouth, and the makeshift doll Tullk made in the other. It was strung together with leftover bits from around the ship, mostly plastic coverings and cloth scraps until it resembled a biped. The kid grinned at Yondu and Kraglin, seemingly untroubled by the tentacles choking off the blood supply to his arms. “C’mon Squish Master, you gotta go off with your new babysitter. You’re gonna meet your Papa!”

Squidy seemed to immediately associate that word with Yondu, because she swiveled in his arms and outreached straight to her favorite blue tree. “Baba!”

The Bug Guy took the oportunity to snatch her up, out of Ravager arms. “Lord Ego would like to thank you for your services, and to let you know that your account has been sent the agreed amount of money, as well as—” he reached into his pockets to pull out a very attractive sack of expensive jewels to hand off to Yondu “—a bonus of physical value. Please let us know when your next arrival will be expected and we shall prepare accordingly.”

Without another word, the Bug Man shimmered and vanished back to his ship, Askavarian tentacles crushing his crunchy exoskeleton. Tullk was positively glowing. “Let’s have another one.”

***

Yondu was still grumbling about how weird Tullk was when he and Kraglin were doing inventory in the bowels of the ship together. With the huge payout they had just received, they needed to catalogue what they needed to buy more of first. Yondu had a PADD in one hand and a beer in the other as he absentmindedly grumbled, “Squidy got all of us conned to her face, but kid don’t gotta admit it. Almost like he likes kids or somethin’.”

Kraglin replied just as absentmindedly. “I’ve been told there are actually species in the universe that care about their young, sir.”

They made eye contact and snorted at the same time. “Yeah, right. You have some experience with that, Obfonteri? Caring parents?”

Kraglin was briefly startled by the question, since Yondu never started personal conversations unless he was drunk enough to marry the door frame, but he answered it honestly and simply, “Never had none. Hraxlians get to keep two kids per couple and the rest get confinscated by the government to be raised in the Worker Force Academy. I wasn’t the one my parents wanted to keep, I guess.” After a long pause, Kraglin inquired, “What about you, sir?”

Yondu took a long, thoughful swig of his drink before calmly murmuring, “Fuckers sold me.”

Kraglin winced involuntarily but said nothing. What was there to say? Yondu clearly didn’t want to be sobbed over because of his shitty childhood any more than Kraglin did. They both let the silence hang between them in a kind of unsaid sympathy for one another, before getting back to buisness. Or, in Yondu’s case, deflecting emotional pain with his care-free attitude. He shut the bay doors and gave Kraglin a mischevious grin. “Tssst. Hey. Wanna fool around?”

Kraglin laughed at him, but set his data pad down. “Are you serious?”

Yondu shrugged off his coat, a daring move in the cool, barely-heated bay. “C’mon. Everyone is in bed or manning night shift stations. And all them credits have got me feeling frisky.”

Kraglin chuckled but slid his hands up Yondu’s shirt, hands roaming over tactile scars. “I don’t need no credits. You make me frisky.”

Yondu snorted, but Kraglin took a mental picture of the blue blush that smattered across his captain’s nose for future appreciation. He went in for a kiss, which Yondu sloppily returned as he tugged on Kraglin’s mechanic belt. They were both tangled, rumpled, messy and flushed when the bay doors slid open. The gasp Yondu made concealed the sound of it, so by the time either of them realized it had moved, the intruder had already passed through it.

Yondu and Kraglin froze, paralized by shock. Yondu could see his entire career spiraling into nothingness over the boom of Stakar’s judgemental voice. Kraglin could see the newcomer getting skewered with a yaka arrow, and maybe even Kraglin for good measure.

It was Tullk, coming at Yondu with a data pad. “Sir? Sorry to bother you, but there’s a Nova squadron doing drills outside of the Parsi system, and I wanted to know how you want to divert the route in order to avoid them.”

Neither one of them answered. Tullk was absorbed in the info on his pad, and Kraglin and Yondu both waited for him to look up. Neither of them had the instincts to leap apart, so locked in an embrace they remained. Tullk finally looked up at them, Yondu with one hand in Kraglin’s hair, the other on his belt, and Kraglin with both hands cupping Yondu’s blue face from their kiss. He blinked innocently and repeated, “Uh, Captain? Do you want to divert across the Parf Run or through the Blelth system?”

Kraglin, still in shock over his precence there, blurted, “How come you haven’t lost you shit over this?”

Tullk blinked at him a few times, clearly trying to put his story into words. He settled on a simple, “My family got killed in a raid by an Accuser fleet, but before that, my dads were great.” He said it with just enough emphasis to convey his meaning. Then he cleared his throat, as if embarrased by the admission, and asked, “So. I was thinking Parf Run?”

“Um. Yeah. Do that.”

He nodded and turned to leave like nothing unusual had happened. Once he was gone, Yondu asked through clenched teeth, “Should I kill him?”

Kraglin thought about it for a long moment before admitting, “He’s the only officer we ever left in charge that hasn’t burned something down, blown something up, or gotten five or more people killed in our absence. If you kill him, we can kiss our free time together goodbye.”

Yondu groaned dramatically. “Shit, we have ta keep ‘im.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Daw Tullk Loves HIs New Space Family


End file.
